Author's Note: So I've been thinking about writing a Revolutionary War Hetalia fic for a while and I've decided to give it a try. Please tell me what you think! Also note that I picture revolutionary Alfred/America to be at the physical and mental state of a 13-15 year old.

November 1765

It was on that day that it had happened. The last rays of the sun had been blasting over the horizon, bathing the town in shimmering golds and oranges. The village had begun to grow quiet as the last of business was taken care of and the families prepared to settle down for supper together.

Even as the shops and roads began to clear, a mess of blonde hair skipped along the dirt road with round, bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement, cheeks pink, and a grin large and crooked.

England's coming.

"Good evening, Alfred! What cheer?"

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Miller! It's a red-letter day!"

England's coming.

"Is that so? Now why's that?"

Alfred slowed to a stop, his eyes sparkling. "Today my best friend is coming to see me. I have to hurry! Please tell Cooper I hope his leg gets better!"

England's coming.

He began to run again.

"I'll pass it along. Take care of yourself, son!"

Alfred gave a wave and then pushed forward with all his might, down the winding path, past the barber shop and the printing office, down to the harbor where a well-dressed man with blonde hair and green eyes stood waiting.

England's here!

"England!" He practically crashed into the man, hugging him tight around the waist. "I missed you!" He looked up at Arthur's face, his smile falling. The man's face was riddled with bandages and bruises, as was the rest of his body, but he hadn't noticed that quite yet. "What… What happened to you?"

"Ah Alfred, it's nothing. Just a spot of trouble with France is all. There is, however, something I must ask of you." Arthur said rather sheepishly, glancing away slightly. "I, uh… I need a bit of money if it wouldn't be too troubling."

Alfred's smile returned shining as bright as ever. "That's no problem!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Really? Heavens! I was worried you would be angry! Even so, I shouldn't be asking you for this in the first place." He muttered the last part, mostly to himself.

"Of course not! How much do you need?" Alfred asked, searching his pockets for spare change.

Arthur chuckled, only half-amused. "I should have known it wouldn't be this easy. Alfred, I'm afraid… I'm afraid I'll need a little more than you can fit in your pocket, lad."

Alfred stared at him uncomprehendingly.

Shame painted Arthur's face. "I'll need a little from every household."

He watched Alfred's eyebrows suddenly knit together in confusion as the boy spoke. "Well… Alright. But just this one time, okay?"

"Uh… Yes. Yes, o-of course." Arthur said, avoiding eye contact.

That was how it all began.

Soon after that day, Arthur kept coming back for more money with always the same words of "Just one more time, I promise!" Bullocks, that was. But Alfred always just slumped his shoulders and went to talk to his fellow countrymen with a long sigh. They were angry from the very start, but as long as it was Alfred asking they didn't have the heart to refuse. That is, until the tax increased to the point felt they had to start protesting publicly-and loudly. Alfred couldn't even walk through the marketplace without passing several mob protests.

It was a terrible feeling, really. He was torn between wanting to join them and wanting to defend England. Of course he hated the tax, but he knew that without it Arthur would continue to look injured and torn up from the Seven Years' War. He couldn't bear seeing the man in pain. Not to mention, England came to visit more often because of the new taxes, and although Alfred couldn't deny how unbelievably selfish it was for him to think in such a way, he couldn't ignore the delight that poured from his heart at the mere sight of the green-eyed man.

On the other hand, all the rules and payments were becoming too much. Many of his neighbors were struggling to even put food on the table.

Probably the worst part about all this was that Alfred was stuck in the thick of it. If the taxes weren't paid, he was the one receiving the lecture about disciplining his people. If he didn't join the boycotts then he was a traitor, which by all logic actually made no sense.

"Alfred!"

The boy sighed and came to a halt, kicking a pebble absently before glancing up. Immediately, the angry stares of at least twenty people burned through him. He swallowed anxiously.

"Are you on your way to meet ol' England?" The voice was like two stones rubbing against each other.

Alfred winced. He began in a small voice, "Well, actually I-"

"Tell him to get off his easy chair and stop this madness! My children need to eat and I'm at the end of my tether! You hear me?"

"Y-Yes, sir."He practically squeaked the reply. And not even a second after it left his mouth did he turn tail and run off as fast as his legs could carry him. He needed to escape all of this right now. His usually brightly lit blue eyes became dim and blurred as tears welled up in them.

Eventually he came to a stop in front of a small shop and pressed his hand against the door, panting a little. Quickly, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve before entering the building. His arrival was signaled by the chime of the small bell above the door. The scent of paper and ink filled the room and Alfred took a deep whiff, suddenly feeling at home. The blonde glanced around, hearing the patter of footsteps on wood and followed the sound to its source.

"Ah, young Mr. Jones!"

Notes

- "What cheer?" was a colonial way of saying "How are you?" or "What's up?"

- A red letter day is a special day - saint's days and holidays were printed in red as opposed to the normal black in almanacs and diaries

- An easy chair is a cushioned chair that concealed a chamber pot